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November 12, 2006

I wanna be a whore.

I wanna be a whore.

Well... yeah. Kind of.

But I don't think my 200-year old grandmother would approve.

"It occurs to me that in a world of twelve-year-olds in sexy boots and nans in sparkly minidresses, the surest way to tell the prostitute walking into a hotel is to look for the lady in the designer suit"
- Belle de Jour: The Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl

I love Belle de Jour! I really do. I went to the bookstore yesterday evening after chatting with my newfound Swedish acquaintances over 2 diet cokes and bought her book, Belle de Jour: The Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl.

I was *this* close to buying the latest copy of Men's Vogue (believe it or not, I still haven't read a copy) but I decided to ditch the magazine and go for REAL reading material (a book) and boy, I'm happy I made the right decision.


I admit... one of the reasons why I bought this book is because Belle published all her stories and exploits on her blog, before getting published in print.


Not soo subtle there am I?


I spent four hours, straight, shit, I even brought it with me when I took a piss in the toilet. Belle's stories are vivid and amazing! I love her book!


He: "It's my first time."
Me: "First time with an escort?"
He: "First time, full stop."

Much fumbling ensues.

He: "Do tell me what to do. That's why I wanted it to be a call girl. Girlfriends never say anything useful."


He: "Honestly, how was that?"
Me: "Enjoyable. You have nice hands. Musician?"
He nods. "What do you think of me in general?"
"Nice. Clever. Fit. You're a fine catch for someone."
"If you had met me somewhere else, would you fancy me?"
"How old are you?"
"Not if I knew your age."

He frowns. I say he looks older than that but I didn't sleep with nineteen-year-olds even when I was nineteen. That doesn't seem to have helped; he's looking even more depressed.

"I'd fancy you. I would. You're a dangerous sort."
How so? he wonders.

Must be careful here. Say something truthful, but nice, and obviously flattery. It's tempting. "I wouldn't want to be the first person to break your heart."

He frowns again. But he shouldn't fret. I'm sure there are plenty of women in the world who would.


Here's my other favourite story...

The client leaned over me, pulling at his member furiously. "I'm going to come on your face," he said. It was the sixth time in ten minutes he'd said it, growling, as if trying to convince himself.

That was all: "I'm going to come on your face." No instructions for me, though I played with my breasts and nipples, sucked on my fingers after touching myself, hoping that would help. All that I had known before the appointment were the details of the meeting and a request to wear a lot of make-up.

My effort didn't seem to help. He was looking at the wall, not at me. A few times his frantic hand slowed, and he dipped down to my lips. He was going soft and I sucked him hard again. He never looked down, not once. Then the masturbation would start again. And the mantra: "I'm going to come on your face." I writhed on the sheets and groaned. No reaction. I bent my head forward and licked his inner thigh. Again, no reaction.

Half an hour later, he still had not finished. I murmurmed and probed, wandering fingers, gentle questions. But it seemed he wanted nothing from me, save to be the canvas he painted. It made me feel like unturned clay must, wanting to form something, some fantasy, but not being allowed. His shoulders slumped and he fell, sweaty, into my chest.

"I'm sorry, honey, it ain't gonna happen," he said, as if it had been my idea all along.


Hilarious eh? I really enjoyed the book. I love all her stories about her extremely colourful sex life, her clients, her agency, her Eastern European madame and all her male best friends. Believe it or not, it made me thought of being a prostitute myself. You know, just for shits and giggles. Hahaha!

This isn't the first time I got curious about being a cheap ho bag. It must be fun to do things you enjoy doing (sex) and get paid for it. Do you have an idea how much these London call girls get? £150 per HOUR! That's like what, US$300 and all they do is open their legs wide or touch somebody's scrotum? I'm not gonna go on a high horse and go all moralistic and spit the same old tiring spiel and say it's degrading blah blah blah. At the end of the day, we're all sinners and these bimbos get cold, hard cash for their sins!

I had one tiny brush with prostitution. Just a teeny, tiny brush and nothing else. When I went to St. Petersburg, Russia a little more than two years ago, there was this 30-something whatever man in a suit send what looked like his bodyguard over my table inside this fancy club. They bought a bottle of champagne and then the bodyguard whatever told me the guy sent it for me. I came up for a chat, you know, to say thanks, who are you and why did you do this yaddi yaddi yadda. The man wanted me to come to his hotel room and "teach him English for US$2,000" because he overheard me talking to my Russian friends and he thought my English is "good"... and I looked "nice". Teach him English my fucking ass. I politely told him I don't really do that and my English is horrible but thanks, anyway, for the drink, in the BEST, sugary smiley way possible, before disappearing to the dance floor. Good thing I had my Russian friends with me for security. I didn't want to come back home inside a wooden box, chopped into pieces, with bullet-sized holes drilled on my forehead. Yuck! LOL.

Honestly speaking, it's NOT the financial reward that made me curious. Heck, I've heard/read/etc that some Filipino hookies have sold their souls to Satan or the Sultan of Brunei for zillions and zillions... I couldn't care any less.

What got me thinking is the whole "customer service" aspect/technicalities of their job.

For instance, there's a 1001 and more reasons why people hire prostitutes -- some people hire an escort to have sex for the first time, some people do it because they just want a 'release', some people do it because they can't get sex for free, some people do it because they can't get what they want from their wives or partners (now this is what I find sick) and some people do it because they just love sex, etc. In fact, based on what I've read, some men hire call girls not to have sex but just to have someone to drink wine with and watch TV.

Different strokes for different folks, I guess. It must be interesting to meet dozens of men every week and hear all their stories and their tales. Remember that episode at Desperate Housewives when Bree's husband slept with the hooker because he likes being dominated?

I'm also curious how hookers do it. One can easily assume their usual client is a dirty old fat hairy bald man. I for one cannot have sex with someone who I think is UNATTRACTIVE. I have standards, you know.

OK, I lied. I *did* have sex with someone who is unattractive WHEN I'M SOBER haha (hello charity fucks) but I was soo horny at that time and my ass was gagging for it. When you look at it on a different perspective, does someone's face matter when they're fucking you doggie style? I have to say his dick compensated for his face. 

I'm sure you know what I mean. We all have limits. There's ugly and there's REAAAAAAALLLY fugly. Don't tell me everyone you've slept with looks like a model fresh from the runways in Milan.

But how do these hookers do it? Surely they can't be thinking of Jesse Metcalfe fucking their orifices EVERY TIME they're with a fugly client.

So yeah... will I make a good whore? Will someone pay for my fat ass? Do you think I'll have a career flitting from one hotel room to the next, raiding random people's mini bars and get myself injected with a shitload of human protein? Should I stand at a street corner wearing nothing but a tank top and boxer shorts on, wiggle my butt and say "sucky sucky 5 dolla, me love you long time 10 dolla, you pay 20 dolla and I gib free roast duck?" Let's see.

My tastes range from the vanilla to the not-so-vanilla side. Things I like (and have done in the past):

  • snogging
  • frottage
  • wanking
  • oral (prefer giving)
  • anal (prefer receiving; i'm a bottom bitch galore)
  • watersports (I'm fine as long as you DON'T urinate on me neck up... I want to leave my aesthetician out of the question. I don't think she'd appreciate picking dried pee clogging my pores. Imagine the horror - "My oh my what a huge comedone, Bryan!" "No it's not a bloody comedone... someone peed on my face last night and I slept with my makeup on!")
  • spanking (giving and receiving; hands, whips, belts, sandals, rulers, you name it)
  • role playing
  • a little bit of S&M (I prefer to be the dominating bitch. I have to admit I haven't done the whole leather thing though)
  • threesomes (as long as I'm the star!)
  • group sex (again, as long as I'm the star! Take off your pants, my legs akimbo and fall in line please. I can only do three at a time.)

I think that pretty much covers it. I've always wanted to try double penetration but I never had the chance to do so. I'm all fours and gagging for it as long as it DOESN'T, I REPEAT, DOESN'T involve red, brown, fisting, breath control, CB&T (cock and ball torture) and nipple clamps. God I hate those things. I also hate sex toys because I find those them revolting... or maybe because I haven't really owned one... the people around me have this uncontrollable tendency to go through my things when I'm gone. I cannot imagine the look on my mother's face if she discovered a jelly kelly vibrator in my underwear cabinet. Also, I once went to a sex shop in London back in the dark ages and saw these enormous black butt plugs as big (and as fat) as my entire leg. To this date, I could never understand how someone can get pleasure out of being split into half. That got me emotionally scarred for life, I think.


I don't think I'll be a prozzie anytime soon.

When you think about it, these are the only bastards who are gonna pay to have sex with me anyway.

Need I say more?

Imagine that man opening the door of his dodgy $10 hotel room.

On viagra.

Pass the barf bag please.

I think I'll leave prostitution to the ones who need to do it most.

You know, funny thing was, 10 minutes after I went to the bookstore, this super cute AND CRAZYYYY guy hahahhaa, well, he looks mixed-race, really fit, probably in his early 20s, quite tall, came up to me and our conversation something like this...

Him: "Excuse me, are you Bryanboy?"
Me: "Well yeah, I suppose I am"


Him: "I really love your blog. Can I take a picture? My friends would be soo jealous."
Me: "Sure!"

*pose, pose, click, click*

Me: "Can I seeee? I don't want to look fat."

*looks at his mobile phone*

Me: "Let's take another one! I don't have a jawline."

*obeys orders, click click pose pose"

Him: "Thank you, I hope I didn't bother you! Thanks, I didn't know you're so nice."
Me: You're welcome!"
Him: "So, are you doing anything tonight? It's a Saturday?"
Me: "Nah, I went out tonight. I'm still recovering from last night. I'm going home after this."
Him: "Can I have your number?"
Me: "0915.785.1492."
Him: "Do you want to meet up sometime? I'd love to buy you dinner."
Me: "Are you inviting me to a date?"
Him: "If that's what you call it, yes."
Me: "Well, I'm kinda seeing someone."
Him: "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that."
Me: "It's ok. But send me a text anyway."


Him: "Ok. See you around."
Me: "Yeah, you too."

and then that's it.



(I should've told him I'm a prozzie and I can go out with him if he's paying me £200 per hour haha *kidding*)


God I hate life.

Will someone please buy me a whore?

All I'm asking for is someone 21-27, nice looks, fit body, a cock that's at least 8 inches long, and someone who knows how to spank?

Like, now?

Email me and tell me you love me. My email address is or SMS +63.915.785.1492.

I love you all!

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